


Normal

by metaphoricheart



Series: Chronically in Love Verse [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Ian, Chronically in Love verse, M/M, Reassuring Mickey, if that can even be called smut, married, the tiniest amount of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 05:30:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14742857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metaphoricheart/pseuds/metaphoricheart
Summary: Sometimes Ian wishes he wasn't bipolar. Sometimes Mickey likes to remind Ian he's an idiot.(The story will make sense regardless of if you've read Chronically in Love)





	Normal

**Author's Note:**

> If you're waiting for me to update Chronically in Love, I'm sorry. I didn't know how to get back into it, so I wrote this instead as a way of trying to find my way back. It's written in the same verse. However, you can understand the story without having read the other story.
> 
> Also, I don't write smut and I've never written anything remotely relating to sex before so please be kind about the tiniest bit I did include's clumsiness. 
> 
> Hopefully, I'll get back into Chronically in Love soon. Thanks for reading.

Ian sat at the kitchen table absent mindedly stirring his tea with a spoon. The morning light lit up his hair in the way Mickey loved. He could hear the school bus he had just hustled Sarah and Yevgeny onto disappear down the road in the distance. He pulled out a chair, and plopped into it.

“Yo!” He snapped his fingers at Ian. 

Ian looked up, confused. “What?”

“What are you brooding about over there?” Mickey asked.

Ian crinkled his eyebrows. “I’m not brooding.”

“Uh-huh,” Mickey intoned leaning over the table to grab the newspaper from Ian, who hadn’t even touched it. 

Mickey started scanning, muttering about how this world is a shit hole when Ian abruptly said, “Don’t you ever get tired of this?”

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Don’t you ever get tired of this?” Ian repeated.

“I heard you. I just don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Mickey replied.

Ian pushed his tea away, frustrated. “Nevermind.” He stood up and headed toward the front door.

“Where are you going?” Mickey asked, bewildered. 

Irritated, Ian held up his running shoes, and started to put them on. “Running.”

Ian unlocked the front door and put his keys in his pocket.

“Woah, hold up!” Mickey said, rushing to the front door. “What is up with you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fucking fine, Mick.” Ian shut the front door.

Mickey groaned. He hoped running would work off whatever steam Ian had woken up with today.

\--

An hour later, the front door opened again, and a very sweaty and red faced Ian came into the house. Mickey shut his laptop where he was working on a new proposal. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get any words out Ian spoke.

“I’m gonna get a shower,” he mumbled.

Mickey groaned again, and reopened his laptop. 

Fifteen minutes later he felt arms wrap around him from behind and looked up to see Ian looking at him sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Mickey pecked Ian on the cheek in response. “You smell good,” he murmured.

Ian smirked. “Didn’t fifteen minutes ago.” 

Mickey stood up out of this chair, and wrapped his arms around Ian’s waist. “Mmm,” he replied and pulled Ian for a kiss. Ian pulled him closer. Mickey felt Ian hardened against his leg, and smirked, pressing his knee lightly on Ian’s bulge. Ian moaned into their deepening kiss. Mickey pulled away and Ian let out a throaty noise of protest. 

“Bedroom,” Mickey said, grabbing Ian’s hand and pulling him towards their room. “Want you.”

Ian hastily stripped. “Then take me already.”

\--

They laid in their lazy afterglow, hands intertwined. Mickey brought Ian’s hand to his lips and kissed it. Ian smiled sleepily and rolled closer to Mickey.

Mickey threaded his fingers through Ian’s hair, and Ian was practically purring like a cat. Mickey rolled his eyes. “What was that about earlier?”

Ian’s relaxed face scrunched up, and he pushed his face into the pillow and groaned. “I was just about to fall asleep.”

Mickey smiled. “You know you can’t nap during the day.”

Ian pressed his face further into the pillow. His muffled voice said, “Then don’t have sex with me during the day.”

Mickey rolled his eyes again. “You’re a piece of work,” he teased. Ian’s hand came up and flipped him off. Mickey laughed and then sighed, and got serious again.

“No really, what was that earlier?” Mickey was worried. “Did I do something to piss you off?” He asked anxiously.

At that Ian took his face out of the pillow and sat up, looking down into Mickey’s eyes. “No, Mick. No. I was just… frustrated about something that’s not your fault.”

Mickey sat up too. “Care to share?”

Ian said nothing, but got out of bed and started putting clothes on. “I want a smoke,” he muttered.

“We’re quitting,” Mickey reminded him. “Don’t have any.”

Ian ran his hands through his hair agitatedly. “I know, still want one.”

Mickey sighed and got dressed too. Whatever calm Ian had been feeling after his run and their moment together completely disappeared. Ian walked out of the bedroom into the kitchen and tapped the counter with his fingertips. Mickey followed, waiting for Ian to talk.

“You’re worrying me,” Mickey finally said after the silence stretched. 

Ian’s shoulders slumped and he turned around to face Mickey. “Sometimes I just wanna be fucking normal,” he said bitterly.

“What do you mean?” Mickey asked, pulling out a chair and sitting in it. 

Ian sighed and sat down too. “You know… not fucking bipolar!” 

Mickey stared at him. Ian usually didn’t talk about his illness this way. Not since that first trip to the clinic all those years ago where Ian learned he might not have a shot at getting better until he was fucking forty. “Why?” He said dumbly, unable to think of a better response.

Irritated, Ian started running his hands through his hair again. “What do you mean why? You’re stuck living with it too! You know exactly how shitty it is!”

The pieces started to fall into place for Mickey. The question earlier. The admission of frustration. “You...you think I’m gonna finally have enough of this, and leave? Fuck off because you have a disease?” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Ian said quietly.

“God, you’re a fucking idiot sometimes,” Mickey grumbled. Ian looked up sharply. Mickey continued, “I married your stupid gay ass didn’t I? I’ve stayed with your stupid gay ass for over a decade! I don’t know where this is coming from, but I’m going to tell your thick skull again, that I’m not going anywhere.” 

“But, maybe we haven’t seen the worst of it and--” Ian fretted.

Mickey cut him off. “Then we haven’t seen the worst of it yet, and when we do, we’ll deal with it. You and me.” 

Ian looked ready to argue again but Mickey was staring at him with such intensity that he had look away. He felt his eyes water, and said in a hushed voice, “I want to live not wondering when my next dramatic climb up will be or when my next fall is coming, when my meds crap out, when I start seeing stuff that’s not there, wondering if I can even pull off living a normal life until I crack again. If I’ve condemned you and Yev and Sarah to a life of shit.”

Mickey reached across the table and squeezed Ian’s hands. “I wish you could have that too. I don’t want you to struggle. I love you. But I love every part of you, including the bipolar.”

“How can you?” Ian said miserably. “I don’t.”

Mickey got up, sat next to Ian, and wrapped him in a hug. Ian sniffed and rested his chin on Mickey’s shoulder. “Well, like I said I married your dumb ass. So, I’ll love it for both of us until you can at least be okay with it.”

Mickey felt Ian’s forehead press into his shoulder and a few drops wet his shirt. Pulling Ian closer, Mickey kissed the top of his head and said gently into his ear, “You’ll get there.”

They stayed like that for a few minutes before Ian pulled away and smirked. “That was fucking corny, Mick”.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey grumbled.


End file.
